Head Case
by MacMhuirich
Summary: A series of gruesome murders shocks Washington DC. Some say it's the job of a nut case. But is it? Our team knows there's more to it than meets the eye, and things turn ugly when both Gibbs and Tim are on the serial killer's radar! May contain elements of horror. Written for the "Stories That Scared Even Me" Challenge.
1. Prologue

_**A/N**: I know this first installment is rather short, even for a prologue. Let's call it a teaser. _

_Anyway: feedback always welcome but you already knew that...providing you already read some of my stuff.  
_

* * *

**Prologue**

The man dialed a contact on his cell and, finding the ringtone going over to voice mail, spoke in a message. "Honey, I just left the grocery. They don't have any frozen prawn. I'm on my way to Patterson's. Gonna see if they still have some."

He'd just hung up when he heard a peculiar sound coming from right behind him and he turned to find out what caused it.

In a blink of an eye, he found himself lying on the tarmac, staring at a pair of feet... Weird. He couldn't turn his head to let his gaze travel upwards from those feet. There was a click, instantly followed by a flash...which made him blink...and then...perplexed darkness.


	2. Chapter 1

_**A/N**: A little longer, this one.  
_

* * *

**Chapter 1**

"Hey! McGee!"

Tony's angry voice brought Tim's head up sharp from behind his monitor, stilling all activity of his ever tapping fingers on the keyboard. His face displayed a myriad of emotions, varying from curiosity, confusion, anxiety,...wariness...to...

Settling for an annoyed frown, he blandly asked: "what?"

"Don't you ever play me this turn again, McGoo."

Tony tossed him a chilling look before deliberately turning his back on his team mate to sit down behind his own work station.

McGee looked across the aisle at Ziva who shrugged in reply, as nonplussed as he was.

None the wiser, he tried one more time.

"What the heck are you talking about, Tony?"

"That chick you sent me to?" Tony gritted between his teeth, not bothering to look at Tim.

And then it dawned on Tim and he allowed a small smile to spread across his features.

_Ah... Of course._

"Look, Tony. I didn't exactly send you to her. You asked me for that calling card she gave me, remember? Or no; correction, you _snatched_ it from my hands!"

"..."

"That...blonde headless bimbo chick?" Ziva sniggered. So like Tony to go after anything blonde in a skirt; the shorter, the better.

"Stay out of this, Ziva." Tony spat out.

"Tony..." Tim began.

"Spare me your apologies, McGee. Some friend you are..." Tony threw him a withering look.

A quick raise of an eyebrow and Tim resumed his typing.

"Wasn't about to, since I didn't do anything wrong."

"You could've told me."

"As if you'd given me a chance to! You so desperately wanted her number no matter if you hadn't even met her face to face!" Tim said with a wry smile, shaking his head.

"Still could've warned me. The least you could've done, McGee: _warn_ me!"

"You wanna warning? I'll give you one, DiNozzo: last man down will..." Gibbs called as he came down the mezzanine stairs and made for the elevator, only pausing at his desk to grab his bag. "...ride in the back of the truck. Got a dead rating."

Three pairs of feet scurried after him. Tim, seeing Tony punch the button for the garage, didn't hesitate and raced down the stairs. He'd gotten really good at this since he'd started taking the stairs to improve his physique.

He was gratified to realize he'd made it to the truck before the others. In fact, he knew it would be a close call and he suspected Gibbs of having stopped the car on its way down. He grinned but quickly put up an innocent mask again as he heard the telltale ding of the elevator and saw the others emerge; Ziva smirking, Gibbs inscrutable as ever and Tony fuming.

-o0o-

Parking the van on the main road, they swiftly got out and made for the dimly lit side street, past the small crowd which had gathered even at this late hour. Where they had come from was anybody's guess.

One of the Metropolitan Police leisurely strolled up towards them and lifted the crime scene tape for them to pass under. "One of my men, just going off duty, made the discovery. There was nobody around when he arrived. He didn't touch anything. He'll report to you."

Taking care to keep to the pre-determined path, he escorted the NCIS team to the usually dimly lit alley where they could just make out the body of the unfortunate rating.

"Head and body baskets at the ready?" He didn't wait for their reactions and went back to his officer.

"Ah, Jethro!" Ducky greeted Gibbs from his stance near the body. "An interesting case, we have here," he continued a little too chirpy for the occasion, Gibbs thought.

In fact, McGee was looking rather doubtful as he surveyed the crime scene and the...headless corpse…and the large pool of blood. He pulled a mask across his mouth, unsure if he'd be able to hold in the raising bile, and his eyes met Gibbs' cold stare. No, not going to contaminate the scene. He swallowed and pulled out his camera. Concentrating on the job at hand would keep him from seeing the most gruesome horror scenes being played in his mind's eye.

He contemplated the scene which was one he'd sooner have expected to see at the movies; something aficionados of the horror genre would've delighted in; thrilling with fascinated anticipation at every gory scene. But what he saw here and now was real. This body was real.

"A clean cut as I ever saw one, Jethro," Ducky went on as he pulled some of the victim's clothing from the neck area using a tweezer, with extreme care.

His knees cracked as he pulled himself up again to allow Tim to take his pictures from the best angles. Ducky's gaze automatically went to Tim's face before taking his friend by the sleeve and guide him away from the victim.

"Hey, Duck. No need to protect him and treat him differently from the others. He's got to stick it out," Gibbs grumbled.

The ME stopped and regarded his friend quizzically. "Do you really believe I was doing that, Jethro? I was merely getting out of the boy's way; giving him some more room so he could take his photographs. I have faith he will handle this grisly situation himself."

Ducky looked back at the body. "This was very expertly done, Jethro."

"An execution?"

"It has the looks of one, but…those pictures left by the poor man… I'm no longer sure. All I can say is that the 'executioner' knew very well how to do it quick. I doubt the victim had ever seen it coming. This was one very sharp instrument that was used for this heinous deed. Swift and with precision. The murderer has a sure aim…with – I give you this as an educated guess on my part – a sword."

Gibbs gave an absentminded assent and walked through the secured area, his mind already theorizing from the visual examination.

The others were busy at their individual tasks by recording a pictorial view of the scene, taking photographs and sketching.

Whilst Ducky and Jimmy were preparing the body for transport to NCIS, the team collected, bagged and tagged until they concluded there was nothing more they could glean from the site. They would analyze their findings as soon as they would get back at their desks.

Gibbs looked at the crowd, wondering if the murderer would still be there to revel in the result of his crime, pretty much like arsonists derive a pathological excitement when watching the fire they started.

He didn't notice the pair of eyes keenly following his every move from the shadows behind the rubbernecking crowd.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Be happy, McGee! Now at least you're in the country when we have a serial killer on our hands."

"What?" Tim frowned. He'd been staring absently at the monitor in front of him, at what evidence he'd collected at the crime scene. However hard he'd been trying to ignore the route his mind was taking him regarding this senseless decapitation, he'd been quite unsuccessful.

"Remember Mexico? No? I do. How could I forget about that. You were lamenting the fact you were out of DC with me just when they had this case with the collection of pickled feet!"

"Oh common, Abby. Thanks a lot for reminding me of that time." Tim rolled his eyes as he turned around from where he was standing, bent over the victim's personal effects spread out on the table in Abby's forensic lab.

But Abby, having her back to him as she was looking intently at the pictures on her screen, was blissfully unaware of his discomfort. "Next time, be careful with what you wish for. It might come out and backfire."

"Whatever..." Tim muttered sourly, now trying to forget that...unmemorable moment in Mexico when he was escorting their labrat for this class in cold cases. "Abby's acting way too enthusiastic over this case."

He sighed and stood beside her, absently watching the horror parade of the crime scene pictures he took.

_._

**_*flashback*_**

"Since I heard we're not the only ones with an unsolved case." Tim told Tony when he was back at his desk after his Mexican adventure.

"We solved the serial killings."

"What?"

"Oh yeah," Tony continued what Ziva had commenced. "You would've loved it. A Marine Corporal poisoned his victims. And then he cut off their feet. Bloody stumps. He picked up their bodies and put them in a vat of acid. Yeah. And then they'd become this viscous gooey molten fleshy balls...

*_twack!_*

Thank God for Gibbs' perfect timing to put an end to Tony's gory details. McGee had felt like he'd have to make another run to the men's room, feeling as his insides were slowly being jellified.

**_*end flashback*_**

_._

"Don't you think Ducky and Jimmy will have a field day over this one?"

Abby paused and pivoted to look at the silent man beside her.

"Tim?"

"Eh?"

"Never mind. Shoo! I've got work to do. And I think you have, too."

"Okay…"

He was almost through her door when she called after him. "And thanks for the Caf-Pow, Timmy! You know what a girl needs!" This brought a smile to his face as she knew it would.

McGee touched his temple in a mock salute and walked away. This latest case was just freaking him out and every detail he'd seen and remembered invaded his thoughts.

As he stepped on board the elevator, he deliberately shook himself. It wouldn't do to let this cloud his analytic mind. He would have to keep it together. For all he knew, this death was only the beginning.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes then cleared his throat before standing tall as he waited for the doors to open at bullpen level.

-o0o-

The glass doors whooshed open, allowing Gibbs to enter the tranquility of Autopsy; the place where the dead talked to the man who took the time to listen to their silent pleas for justice.

The place sometimes gave him the creeps...and other times, it was a haven when his troubled mind needed peace and quiet during a difficult case, when he was too tired to go home.

He smiled wryly at the soft murmurs coming from the only...living...occupant in the room.

"When's Palmer gonna be back?"

Ducky turned and straightened his achy back.

"Ah, Jethro! How nice to pay me a visit. Dr. Palmer isn't due back until next week. But I don't expect this is the true reason of your visit, is it?"

"The case, Ducks. What can you tell me."

Gibbs stepped closer to the table and looked at the corpse...the body and the detached head.

"We have a clear cut case of a sharp force injury. In this particular case, we see a well-defined parting of the tissues."

"A very thorough...parting."

"Oh, absolutely. A violent death, and judging by the precision and the force applied, the pressure of the...sharp edged object used, we can rule out suicide. I must yet meet the person who can detach his own head from his body. Did you know, Jethro, that 1.7% of all suicides are sharp force injuries, whereas 12% are..."

"Ducks, I don't have all day. So please..."

"Of course. The weapon with which this wound was inflicted was wielded with a swift, well aimed combination of slashing and hacking. Or chopping."

"So the weapon..."

"Could be anything. A machete, hatchet, meat cleaver, saber... Any heavy razor sharp instrument could, as long as enough force was used, even cut through bone. Enough to cause a complete amputation...as it obviously did in this case, cleanly severing the cervical vertebrae. Of course, the size and shape, the angle of the blow, the curvature...a closer examination of the body will hopefully shed more light on what type of weapon has been used. I will need more time, Jethro."

Ducky took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before readjusting them.

"As a matter of fact, this case reminds me of the _tameshi-giri_ which was a practice in feudal Japan to test the sharpness of swords or a samurai's skills, on corpses...executed prisoners mostly. However I'd like to point out that, today, more conventional targets, either made of soaked rice straw or rolls of straw mats or bamboos, are used for the purpose."

"The cut was definitely horizontal. Both Abigail and myself agree on this based on the photographic documentation by young Timothy, as well as the "as is" photographs I made. There is the distinct blood spatter pattern on the crime scene pictures. And since it was a copious amount... And of course, our poor man's neck region offers the most conclusive evidence of all."

Gibbs nodded.

"I'll let you get on with your examination, then, for that's all we've got. McGee's been through the video feeds of the surveillance cameras till he got double vision but came up with nothing. Tony and Ziva talked to the wife, but she couldn't help us any further. In fact, she was no help at all; just...ya know...crying her eyes out it was all her fault for not having bought more prawn when she did the shopping for their dinner party earlier today."

Well, I don't as yet have anything conclusive to offer, Jethro. So I'd best be getting on with my work."

Ducky turned his attention back to the body on his slab; the very unlucky Joshua Baker.

"My most abject apologies, Mr Baker. I'll continue my close examination to get to the bottom of your unfortunate demise. Now, where were we...?"

Leaving Ducky to his own devices, Gibbs turned on his heels and left, confident the ME would find out more. He would prod his MCRT to keep them on their toes. Of course he knew they already gave this case their best, but it wouldn't do to let them know this. A little goading never did any harm, did it.

-o0o-

Tim nervously thumbed his clicker as he switched the different slides on what they'd gathered so far. Not that they could in any way link the crime to the victim.

The screen froze on one particular set of evidence: that of the photos left on the body.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

Tim chewed on his bottom lip. "Why the damned pictures? It's like...the killer's signature?"

"But why five of them?" Ziva mused.

"With different time stamps," Tony thought aloud. "All taken after...he lost that part north of the neck..."

"...after death..." Tim gulped audibly.

They stood there as if transfixed, with myriads of irrational thoughts going through the team's minds as they gazed at the flat screen showing the victim's blank stare as if still capturing the shock he would have experienced...

As they went once more through the crime scene pictures, they all agreed this was more something one would expect to see at the movies; something aficionados of the horror genre would delight in – thrilling with fascinated anticipation at every gory scene. But this was real life! Not B-actors using some clever props and having passed hours in front of a mirror, being manhandled by a make-up woman for their transition to play a corpse.

This body was real and even Tony couldn't find one movie quote to lighten the mood.

Eventually, he settled for a muttered: "It's not the same as decapitating Barbie dolls, guys."


	4. Chapter 3

_**My abject apologies for the long delay and leaving you all hanging. Real life got somehow in the way and, whilst I had this chapter finished long ago, I forgot to upload it here. blushing with embarrassment I hope you'll forgive me. **_

_**Now that things have settled down, I can again spend some more time on finishing my two works in progress.** _

_**I hasten to thank for the fine reviews I got to this story. They're, as ever, most welcome.**  
_

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**Chapter 3**

The team worked very late, that day, without making any headway.

The victim, Joshua Baker, had been a normal guy, with a normal wife, living in a normal house...leading a normal life. Nothing extraordinary about all this and therefore there was nothing that could be linked to this senseless murder.

After a week of...nothingness... Gibbs was close to admitting defeat. This puzzle was not going to get solved that easily, he felt. There had to be something; yet, there wasn't. But how could that be? What important clues were they missing? Had this victim been picked for no reason at all? Was this just a game? Was he just a guy who was in the wrong place at the wrong time? And if he hadn't been there, looking for extra prawns...would they have had another victim on their hands? Or not?

Gibbs put the crime scene and autopsy pictures down and leaned wearily back in his chair to rub his eyes. Damn; one of these days he wouldn't be able to hide his ailing vision and he'd have to wear those prescribed glasses he kept in his desk.

Staying in this reclined position, he laced his hands behind his neck, eyes remaining closed and resting.

What did they miss?

There was something about these pictures. He was damn sure of it.

The sound of something being placed on his desk made him open his eyes warily, a scold already starting to set on his face.

"Thought you'd need one, Boss," a soft and equally weary voice spoke.

McGee... He'd whipped the agent into searching deeper and harder, figuratively speaking, of course. He knew McGee had doggedly kept going, even when the others had already left for the night. His computers had been on almost non-stop, running his search programs to find those elusive elements that would furnish a link and thus a motive to the crime. All in vain...so far.

Gibbs gave the young man a nod for a thanks and took a sip of the still scalding hot liquid.

An aggravated sigh from across the aisle of their section in the bullpen drew his attention.

"Why? It always comes back to the "why". Baker had no noticeable enemies... At least not the kind that would threaten to see him killed." Tony muttered.

"So not an act of revenge," Ziva concluded.

"...or justice..." Tim offered.

"But...! We got an idea of the murder weapon," Tony pointed out.

"A machete!" Tim snorted as he leaned forward to get the autopsy report on the screen for all to see.

"I can't help it, but I still lean towards an act of justice. Capital punishment. We know the practice is still conducted in certain parts of Asia..."

"One would expect a slightly...more...ceremonial kind of weapon for that, Tony."

Tony sprang from his chair with a growl and went to stare out of the windows.

"We got something, though," he finally said as an afterthought over his shoulder as he continued to gaze at the slow moving tidal waters of the Anacostia.

"What's that?"

"The MO. He knows what he's doing. No hesitation. At least, Ducky and Jimmy didn't find any hesitation marks. I'll bet my classics collection on it that he's done this before."

"Did you find anything similar in those cold cases? D'you think it's the same killer?" Tim wanted to know.

"Lemme see..." Tony walked back to his desk to check the paper files. Then, he tossed them in the box again and turned to McGee who, with a dip of his head in silent acknowledgment turned his attention to the digitalized autopsy files.

The reports visualized on the large screen, layered in stacks.

"The first cold case victim..." Tim enlarged the top file.

They silently skimmed the autopsy report.

Ziva shook her head. "Not our man. The lesion on this victim doesn't correspond with Joshua Baker's wound."

Tim went on to the next set of pictures. His face already showing he had his doubts about this victim being a possible candidate for their killer's list.

"The head was more sawed off than detached in one clean sweep."

"Maybe our killer had was still learning?"

"How about the pictures? Any of those cold cases with a set of snapshots of the result?"

They checked and still came up with nothing.

Tony tapped his pen against his teeth. "What if these pictures were meant as proof of death? Maybe as evidence of a successful hit? Mmm... I say this could point in the direction of a contracted killing. A hit man."

"Or a message he wants us to know?" Tim suggested. "Whatever the reason, our killer is telling us something, here."

"How about...the killings are some sort of warning?" Ziva asked.

"Against what? To whom?"

They sat, staring at their computers. Sometimes, their eyes would drift to the information still visible on the flat screen. Mostly, however, they stared blankly ahead of them, letting all the information they'd got so far parade in their minds, looking for clues.

They were all both shocked and annoyed by the nature of the killing and resurfacing those cold cases...with more headless victims...made this case even more ominous. If there was anything positive to this case, it was that it worked as a compulsive force which had them all directing their energy to solving this case as soon as possible. They would make sure there wouldn't be...too many more headless bodies piling up before they got this psycho killer.

After a long stretch of silence, McGee was the first to stir. He'd gone from staring unseeingly to checking the crime scene pictures once again, a sea of emotions flitting across his face; from weary to sick and annoyed. The longer he watched the photographic evidence, the more he started thinking about the actions of carrying out such a horrific murder.

Soon, he was green behind the gills as the images imprinted themselves on his brain and he needed to swallow tightly for a couple of times, his adam's apple bobbing up and down with agitation.

"Djeez! With the amount of blood spurting from the severed arteries, this must've been a messy business. No way that the killer hasn't had any of that on him! At least enough not to go unnoticed when he walked away from the crime scene."

"We still don't know how he left the scene in the first place," Tony said as he gave himself a good stretch before leaning back in his seat, lacing his fingers behind his head.

"He may have stepped aside at the crucial moment?" Ziva suggested, sitting up a little straighter in her chair again.

"Even if he'd positioned himself out of the way of the spray, he'd still be sprayed by the arterial blood, Zee," Tim said absentmindedly, trying to make sense of how the killer could possibly conceal a blood covered weapon as well as walk away with blood spatter all over his clothes. "There's also the weapon. He must really be experienced and coldblooded to quickly put away his used machete... Maybe a hold-all..."

"...or his car standing nearby so he just had to toss the instrument inside, get behind the wheel and drive off," Tony thought aloud.

Finally, Gibbs levered himself out of his chair and dropping his long empty coffee cup in the bin, grabbed his jacket and made for the elevator.

"Okay, that's it. This is getting us nowhere. We just keep running in circles. Remember we've been going through all this already."

His team stared at him as if surprised he was still at his desk.

"What's the matter? Go home. Let's all sleep on it. Be here at 7am sharp. Maybe then something will come to us when we're rested."

-o0o-

All the way on his drive home, Gibbs kept seeing the crime scene pictures of the victim's body. Something was niggling at his brain, but what was it?

Footsteps brought him out of his pensive state and brought him immediately in a state of alert. He turned around and almost breathed a sigh of relief at seeing Savalas, one of the yard's guards. Remembering the hour, he knew the man's shift had ended. He smiled, thinking of how Tony always brought a lollipops for the man's birthday.

And yet, he couldn't beat this nagging feeling that he was missing something important and the twigging wiped the smile off his face in an instant.

-o0o-

The door to the restaurant opened to let a party of patrons out into the night.

They remained standing in front of the restaurant for a little while longer, taking their time to say their goodbyes.

"Jess, really! It's no big deal at all to drop you off on your doorstep. It's only a slight detour. Why call a cab?"

"Don't worry about me. I'm used to it. Besides, it's my own fault that I lost my driving license. Shouldn't have driven home myself when I was that intoxicated..."

They all fell silent. Of course they remembered. At least, he'd never touched alcohol ever again.

Jess had hung up. Apparently it was a busy night for the cab drivers. He'd try again later.

"Hey, guys! It's not for much longer. Getting my permit back in two weeks!"

The party separated and Jess was left alone.

He walked to the corner of the street and gave it one more try to call for a cab.

Ah, finally! He got connected!

He was just giving the directions when he saw a man approach from across the road. He didn't pay that much attention to the stranger as he was still concentrated on the phone call.

Then, his eyes widened in shock as he saw the man, without saying a word, swing his arm and strike him in the neck. A sharp, intense pain was all he felt before his body went down. He tried to comprehend what had happened but other than seeing a flash and permanent darkness, there was nothing more.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Gibbs' mind had been awhirl from the moment he got inside his car until he steered the vehicle up his driveway and had turned the ignition off, silencing the purring and vibrating engine.

He had never been as relieved as he was now, walking inside the relative safety of his home.

While he had been knackered before, all desire to sleep had now left him. Instead, he trudged down to his basement. The project waiting on his work top would help him clear his mind for what he was feeling, now, was a moment of a crude tension as something important was eluding him.

He shrugged. It was useless to break his head over this absurd feeling of ignorance - premonition – dread – death. Somewhere at the back of his memory, something was trying to assert itself.

Gibbs' hand went straight to the bourbon he kept on a shelf. A special shelf where he kept odds and ends that, at some point or other in his life, had meant something to him.

He sploshed some of the golden liquid into a mug...his father's...and brought it up to his lips, taking a liberal swig. He enjoyed the burn of the alcohol as it made its way down his throat... Felt its passage through his chest, the heat fading along the way.

The empty mug still clutched in his hand, he stood there for another minute before grabbing the bottle again, hoping to find that warm sensation again...and something more. Somehow, the bourbon, if he took enough of it, made him detached, and that was what he wanted.

Setting the mug aside with a rueful smile – he'd surely return to the bottle before the night was over – he directed his mind to the project in front of him.

This...would be a long night for sure, and he waited for the demons to come knocking on his door. Over the years, he'd come to get used to their visits.

-o0o-

All the way during the familiar drive home, Tim couldn't shake this nagging feeling of foreboding.

From the moment he'd left the Forge Building, walking to his car, he had this creepy-crawly sensation that someone was watching him.

Even now, as he'd locked his car and quickly stepped towards his apartment building, he couldn't help but cast a look over his shoulder. He had the irascible, overwhelming fear somebody would jump at him at any moment, slashing through his neck... Never before had he had this all-consuming, primal fear.

Tim hurried inside and found the dim light in the hallway strangely comforting; offering a brief moment to calm himself. He climbed the steps leading to his floor as fast as he could and found the fear inside building up again.

More on guard than ever before, his fingers having flipped off the safety on his cocked Sig, he let himself into his apartment and, leaving the lights off, made the tour to check for a possible intruder.

He kept as close to the walls as possible as he approached the bedroom where he put his hand to the door and carefully pushed it open. The streetlamp cast, to his current mind, eerie shadows on the wall.

Lastly, the small bathroom was checked, but there was nobody lying in wait in there, either.

Finally satisfied he was alone, he locked his gun holstering it again before flipping on the switch, making the shadows vanish as soon as his room was bathed in light.

Suddenly, though, he felt all the pent up cold fear break out as if suffering from a fever. A sheen of perspiration lay on his forehead which he wiped at with an unsteady hand.

He let out a shaky sigh and dropped back on his couch, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

Tim shot bolt upright and, consulting his watch, he noticed not 15 minutes had passed since he'd fallen asleep on his couch. Grunting, he got up and straggled his way to bed.

He kept his gun close at hand, just in case.

That night, images of headless corpses haunted his dreams. Eyes were staring accusingly at him from dripping heads that seemed to float in the cloying air, the sweet nauseating scent of blood assaulting his senses.

After what seemed like endless hours of tossing and turning, all attempts to catch some sleep were abandoned and, kicking back the covers, he got up and pattered into the bathroom to get ready for an early working day, not at all feeling like the morning lark he usually was…

He stared owlish at his reflection in the bathroom mirror…

…and definitely not going to look his morning's best.

Maybe a shower will wipe away most of the weariness and unease?

Taking off his T-shirt and night shorts, he stepped into the bathtub, tugged at the curtain to close it. He ran the shower, enjoying the hot spray as he let out a long exhalation, feeling his taut muscles slowly relax.

He closed his eyes and rinsed the foam from his hair.

A slight draught ruffled the curtain.

-o0o-

Gibbs gave the nail one last deft hit before laying his hammer aside and ran his hand over the board checking for protruding nail heads. Satisfied, he stood it in the corner along with the three other boards he'd finished earlier.

He mounted the stairs out of the basement and switched off the light.

The early light of dawn filtered inside when he walked into the kitchen to make himself some coffee. As it was brewing, he went about his daily routine.

He'd just finished scraping the last of his stubble and checked his face in the mirror and nearly suffered a heart attack when his eyes met the image of his youngest agent standing right behind him, face pale as if drained, in shrill contrast with the red of the blood gushing from his severed neck, his eyes wide with shock and mouth open in a soundless cry.

The razor fell into the sink with a clatter and Gibbs spun around.

There was nobody.

He ran shaky hands over his face as if this act would clear his vision of what were obviously figments of his imagination. His mind was playing cruel tricks on him. The sensation of foreboding, however, could not be erased and, having come to a decision, he quickly finished his shaving and dabbed his face dry.

He ran back into his bedroom to change.

The alluring scent of fresh coffee wafting from the kitchen never failed its addicting effect. He would have his coffee. He craved it.

Having taken his first slurp, he set the steaming mug down, picked up his cell phone and dialled McGee's number.

McGee's phone kept ringing until his voice mail picked up.

Gibbs felt a shiver of dread run down his spine as a chilling thought occurred to sheer dread made it feel like the room temperature plummeted to sub zero.

No.

NO!

As if on its own accord, his hand swept the mug off the table, shattering it to a thousand pieces and spilling the hot, brown liquid all over the place.

A coldness coursed through his veins, spreading over his body. He felt giddy and a tightness in his chest as a state of emergency overtook him, the adrenaline flooding his body to do its work.

Fight or flight...

Fight it would be, for the word 'flight' never had a place in his dictionary anyway.

Thus spurred into action, he grabbed his keys on the way out, letting the door bang closed behind him.

Dear God in Heaven! He prayed he was not too late!


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

The...shadow...returned his bloodied weapon to his bag, slung the strap over his shoulder and calmly walked away from the scene of death.

The chill light of the full moon bathed the fresh corpse, adding a special accent to the glistening dark pool where the victim's head should've been, giving the copious amount of liquid the aspect of quicksilver.

On the victim's chest lay a set of Polaroids. This time, a personal note had been added. A letter and an invitation...to death.

As the murderer blended in with the dark shadows, soundlessly disappearing from this place where he'd, once again, worked his art; his curiosity satisfied and his vengeance fueled. He smiled an empty smile with none of the human emotions he'd once had. Even his need for vengeance had been devoid of those. It was as if he'd undergone an evolution: from human to...a vengeful demon?

Then, he was completely gone, swallowed by the night...like a specter.

-o0o-

Gibbs called his agent but instead of hearing his man alive and well on the other end, he got McGee's voice mail message.

He cursed and thought whether he should call the others or not. He decided not to: imagine he arrived at McGee's apartment only to find nothing had happened and that he had acted solely on his gut feeling? He knew he could usually trust it, but there had been times he'd been mistaken.

With mounting fear, he stepped on the gas, being past bothering about speed limits. A life might be at stake and he'd never been one for dawdling.

Tires screeching, he stopped his car in front of McGee's block.

He'd barely straightened up from getting out of his car when his phone rang.

Scowling while never breaking his stride, he answered the call. "Gibbs."

He was standing in front of McGee's door by the time he finished and, quickly putting away his cell to be replaced by his gun, he pushed the bell button beside his agent's door. One last time to check if his fears were justified or not.

Gibbs felt his body tense in apprehension and anger when the door actually was unlocked and opened wide to let him in. To his immense surprise, and heart skipping a beat with relief, he found himself face to face with...a very alive if not completely well Timothy McGee.

"What happened!? Why didn't you answer my call..."

Tim sighed wearily, holding a cold pack to the side of his head as he begged Gibbs inside with his free hand.

"I slipped..." Tim muttered with ill-disguised embarrassment.

"You slipped..." Gibbs repeated. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "And how exactly did you slip?"

"I was...well..."

How was he going to explain how badly he'd freaked out when the curtain moved at a mere draft coming from the small bathroom window he'd left open himself?

"I'm waiting."

"I though there was an intruder when I saw the curtain move. I...I panicked and slipped...in the bath... Stupid, I know." The last bit was barely loud enough for Gibbs to catch.

Tim swayed and minutely closed his eyes, surprised by a stab of pain which was only to be expected after his embarrassing tumble in his bathroom.

"McGee, sit down before you keel over," Gibbs commanded gruffly, taking his man by the elbow and leading him to the couch.

"I'm fine, Boss," Tim said, although he was grateful to sit down.

"No, you're not. Did you pass out?"

"I...think so...but I'm not sure...Er...but I'm sure it wasn't..." He was babbling.

Gibbs gave him a hard stare, arching his brow at Tim.

"Are you well enough to come with me to NCIS?"

"Of course!"

"Good, 'cause I got a call from Tony just when I got to your place. We have another victim..."

By the time they showed up at the scene, they found Ducky and Jimmy already there, waiting for the team to join them beside the body. Ziva and Tony had only just arrived, too, and Ziva walked up to them, giving Tim a strange, yet concerned look which Tim chose to stoically ignore. Tony was yawning and stretching like a cat.

"Ah! Jethro! There you are!" Ducky beckoned them over.

"You found something, Ducks?"

"Indeed I do. This time, the head is actually placed a little further apart, about 4 feet away at chest level. As you can see, it is 'standing' facing its...his...its... Facing its body."

"Why would that be?" Gibbs asked.

This time, it was Jimmy who came up with, what he thought a plausible explanation. "The heads of guillotine victims was sometimes held up so the condemned could see their separated bodies. Apparently the idea was that the brain was active long enough so it could still register its owner's horrifying death."

"Sick..." Tony growled.

"Morbid," Tim volunteered, a little green around the gills. "Uhm...could...the...ah...brain...eh...still..."

"Seems like your own isn't very cooperative today, Tim," Tony laughed. Tim, unable to find a suitable response back, could only roll his eyes, which wasn't a good idea for it only caused his head to throb even worse.

"It's known as the 'guillotine syndrome' - in one out of a thousand, the severed head would seem to retain consciousness for as long as four minutes." Ducky explained in his usual animated way.

"Oh, this is getting better all the time," Ziva muttered sarcastically.

"Anything else?" Gibbs wanted to know.

"There's a photograph of...well...you, Boss! And a card...besides the...Polaroids..." Tim, frowning with confusion, pointed his finger at the items before snapping a shot with his camera.

Gibbs stooped to pick up the new Polaroid of himself and the card to put them in separate see through evidence bags and stared hard at the picture the killer had taken only yesterday as Gibbs walked toward the Forge Building, coffee cup in hand. There was no mistake as it had even time stamp on it. He then squinted at the message holding one word: _confess_!

Confess? To whom? About what? When?

Gibbs closed his eyes.

Had those gruesome murders truly been committed as a result of something he'd supposedly done? Did the killer honestly think those deaths were justifiable in any way?

It was a rare occurrence for Leroy Jethro Gibbs to be stumped, but right now, that moment had arrived.

He found it hard to swallow how a multitude of bloody murders, instead of being the results of a random factor, were in truth the fall-out of some personal conflict. He couldn't think what had happened in his past to be the leading cause of what was happening now. And why now? What had triggered the killer to leave behind him a bloody trail of beheaded corpses now?

His fingers fumbled with the plastic evidence bag as he pondered about what could possibly have happened in the past. His past.

"Boss..."

Blinking his eyes open, Gibbs reconnected with the world around him and, noticing the concerned expression on Tony's face, looked down one last time at the note and picture in the bags before handing them over to Tony to add them to the rest of the gathered evidence.

"Are we nearly done, here?" Gibbs asked his senior agent, sweeping his eyes over the scene.

Tony followed Gibbs' gaze. "Ducky and Jimmy are ready to load our victim in the van. And, yes, we're nearly finished. We're waiting for McGee to return with the live feeds. Not that we expect much, but we never know. There were no witnesses, either. At least, none that we know about for now. Our man's so good it's scary."

Gibbs nodded. "He is."

"What's with McGee, Boss? He looks like crap."

"He's fine. Look... Just finish up here, okay?" And with that, Gibbs strode away, signaling McGee with a curt nod to join him on his way to the car. This was going to be another long and taxing day.


End file.
